Eighteen
by Amy11
Summary: A few years into the future, disaster strikes Sunnydale. That's really all I can say without giving away the entire plot, and this fic is fairly dark, so if you're looking for something on a lighter note, you may want to look elsewhere.


Title: Eighteen  
Author: Amy  
Slvrbttn@aol.com  
Summary: A few years into the future, disaster strikes Sunnydale... That's   
pretty much all I can say.  
Spoilers: Mild through the sixth season so far.  
Disclaimer: Joss made them. I just rain fire upon their heads. ;)  
Rating: mild R  
Distribution: Just ask me. I'll say yes.  
All my thanks go to Tracy for beta-ing. She's wonderful that way.   
* * * * *  
  
  
  
It's my eighteenth birthday and two months ago, nearly everyone I love died.  
  
Xander and I barely got out of Sunnydale-- we were on the outskirts as we   
watched it explode and burn. It burned for nearly two weeks, the reports   
say, although by the time the fires were out, we weren't anywhere near there.   
  
  
It's funny, in an unfunny sort of way... I always thought that if anyone   
would live on after saving my life, if someone would be there to take care of   
me, it would be Buffy. I thought it would be my sister pulling me by the   
arm, screaming hysterically for me to follow, even lifting me up and   
continuing to run when my legs went out. Maybe Spike. But I never pictured   
Xander.  
  
I should have, though. He was great at it.  
  
The sky fell down, you see. A sky made of flames, a sky from Hell. I keep   
thinking that somehow it was me, because the last time the door between   
dimensions was opened, it was because of my blood. Xander keeps assuring me   
that it wasn't. It was the demons, it was in the prophesies and he says that   
Buffy wouldn't want me to think about it.  
  
I can't help it, though.   
  
There was no time, that much I know. One day Giles was trying to translate   
some gibberish from a yellow, brittle sheet of paper and the next day we were   
in the middle of the fight. Demons sprang out from nowhere, I suppose just   
to make it harder for the humans to escape, because they died too. It was   
hot, hotter than the middle of summer during a heat wave and I didn't realize   
at the time that that was because there was fire burning everything around   
us. The buildings, the plants... The people.   
  
I still remember that stench of sizzling flesh, and the sound of people   
shouting, pleading for the pain to stop. It rings in my ears, night after   
night, until I wake up shaking as Xander holds me, brushing away my tears,   
kissing my eyelids and curling himself around me.   
  
We hardly talk about it, though. We've seen too much now. It sort of seems   
like all that time Buffy spent protecting my sight from the creatures that go   
bump in the night was wasted because I've looked at things that could tear up   
anyone's soul forever.   
  
They sure as hell have torn up mine.  
  
My name was the last thing she said, you know.   
  
Most of them were dead already; Giles was lying with a broken neck not twenty   
feet away and Anya spread next to him, her neck slashed so badly that it   
almost seemed like her head was severed. Willow and Tara were crushed under   
the weight of a building as it burned and toppled. Spike burned to death.   
Unable to put out the fires that caught onto his clothing, he disappeared   
into a swirl of dust and ashes.   
  
Angel had been shoved into a tree with a broken branch protruding, staking   
him on the spot. Neither of us saw what happened to Cordelia, but I heard   
her screaming Wesley's name, and I remember the moment she stopped screaming,   
that awful, abrupt silence, so I can only assume they were both killed as   
well.  
  
I think sometimes that we shouldn't have called them... We barely had time   
with how quickly they died, it seemed pointless for them to be there anyway.   
God, that sounds horrible, like I don't appreciate what they did, but that's   
the way it is I guess.  
  
But Buffy... I was fighting off something with orange skin and seven arms   
and saw her across the road, kicking the shit out of some scaly, slimy thing   
and she looked up. Locked eyes with me.   
  
Xander had just finished off killing a demon and he was right beside me,   
although I don't remember how he got there. And Buffy screamed, "Xander!   
Take her out of here! Run, Dawn!"  
  
In that moment where she wasn't concentrating, those two seconds it took her   
to yell out instructions, the demon tripped her and stomped on her throat   
before she could get back up. I don't remember what happened next, how we   
started running, just that we were. Xander's hand was slick with blood and   
sweat but he held on to mine so tight that it hurt.   
  
We ran and ran and ran, terrified, knowing that if Buffy was dead, there   
wasn't anything else we could do except escape. After what seemed like miles   
my legs crumpled and without taking a moment to pause, Xander just swooped   
down and lifted me into his arms, like we were newlyweds and he was carrying   
me over the threshold.   
  
He didn't break stride.  
  
And then we watched the town burn.  
* * * * *   
  
That night... That awful night.   
  
We didn't say anything as we trudged along the side of the road. He didn't   
let go of my hand, either, and I didn't want him to even though his grip was   
rough. We looked like the disaster victims we were, covered in grime and   
soot and blood. My hair was soaked with blood, sticky and wet.   
  
We finally hitched a ride and sat in the back of a truck silently as we made   
our way to Stockton with the driver. After a while we made stock of our   
holdings and figured out that, with the cash in Xander's wallet and his   
credit cards, we would be okay for a little while.   
  
That sounds weird.... We would be okay.  
  
The driver dropped us off at a little hotel and Xander checked us in as Mr.   
and Mrs. Harris and he shuddered a little when the receptionist called us   
just that. Thinking of Anya, I suppose. The receptionist tried to keep us   
at the desk a little longer than necessary, no doubt wondering why we looked   
the way we looked, so Xander explained that our home had burned down and left   
us with nothing.  
  
It wasn't so far from the truth, if you think about it.  
  
Xander and I showered together when we got to the room. Modesty seemed   
frivolous and stupid by that point, and we just wanted to clean off the day,   
and the memories of the day. We lathered each other up and rinsed out each   
other's hair and the water turned dark pink as it hit the shower floor.   
  
I had never seen a naked man before then, unless you count looking at copies   
of Playgirl when I was thirteen, but... It was strange because it wasn't   
strange at all.   
  
As I cleaned the back of his neck, he suddenly wrenched away from me and out   
of the shower stall, kneeling over the toilet as he threw up. I stepped out   
with him, plucked up some towels to dry the now-splashy floor and ourselves   
and wrapped myself around him. He threw up for so long, I started to get   
worried, and even after there was nothing in his stomach, his stomach   
continued heaving.  
  
I just whispered in his ear and kissed his cheek and held him and said...   
  
I said thank you.  
  
I don't know why I said that. I mean, he did save my life, but some days I   
wish I had died along with the rest of them. I think maybe he just needed to   
hear that even though everything was so horrible, he had done something good,   
the one thing he could have done.   
  
I was calm as I talked to him and it scared me a little because everything   
seemed so distant and faraway and unreal. Although, seriously, if everyone   
you loved had been killed by demons and had been burned to ashes by a fire   
that swallowed your whole town... You might have felt that it was unreal,   
too.  
  
When his stomach finally settled, he turned his face to me and nestled his   
cheek against my breast as he hugged my waist so tight it threatened to cut   
off my air supply.  
  
I just rubbed his damp hair and kissed him over and over until he kissed me   
back, until he wasn't just feeling pain.  
  
I didn't plan it, ironically enough. I'd spent my whole existence being in   
love with Xander and would trade everything that's happened between us just   
to see my sister smile at me one more time.  
  
He took my virginity that night and I gave it to him gladly, if for no other   
reason than to just not think for a single minute about the past twenty-four   
hours. It was good; it didn't hurt like I expected and he made it nice for   
me, managing not to say Anya's name, even though I could see it on the tip of   
his tongue the whole time.   
  
When it was over, he touched my cheek and cuddled me into him and asked, "Are   
you okay, Dawnie?"  
  
It felt strange, after having been so bizarrely close to him through sex, to   
hear him say my name like that. Dawnie.   
  
That was when I realized that my face was wet, and had been the whole time we   
were making love. That was when I realized I'd been crying. And when it   
came to me, when I felt the tears with one shocked finger, I suddenly   
couldn't turn them off. Like Xander throwing up, it was reflexive, and   
necessary to last through the next minute. I wept until my tear ducts were   
dry and even after I could hear my broken sobs echoing through the room.   
  
When I was silent, Xander dried my face and kissed me and we made love again.  
  
I always dreamed that if I ever slept with Xander, it would be something that   
we couldn't deny out of passion and lust and all sorts of wonderful emotions.   
I never really expected it to happen, but when it did it was for none of   
those reasons. It was just comfort. He knew it and I knew it.   
  
It wasn't emotionless, that's not what I'm saying. And there was love there.   
Maybe not the kind I'd always dreamed about, but love nonetheless. But, most   
of all, I think it was the simple need to be connected to something after the   
day we'd just shared. We were the only two people on earth who could ever   
understand what had happened and so we were the only two people on earth that   
we could share our pain with.   
  
You always figure that, when your world changes, it'll be because of   
something wonderful like getting married or having baby. Maybe you think   
it'll be something awful, like getting a divorce or something, but...   
  
You don't actually expect your world to change forever, I don't think.  
  
But mine has.  
* * * * *  
  
We wasted no time finding jobs and a place to stay. Stockton seemed safe   
enough, except for maybe the crime. ...But no demons like the ones we left   
behind. The occasional vampire, I'm sure, although I never saw them. Just   
safe enough to rest there a while.  
  
Xander found us a little one-bedroom apartment and I got a job waitressing.   
He picked up another job at a construction site pretty easily, even though   
there was no one left in his hometown to give him references. It was weird   
how comfortably we settled into our new life.   
  
We didn't talk that much those first few weeks. Adjusting, I guess. He   
would kiss me goodbye when he went out every morning after eating something I   
cooked. I'm not a good cook and don't profess to be, so I always kissed him   
extra long when he ate my food, because it just went to show how much he   
cared, and how much he was willing to sacrifice for me.   
  
And we made love every night.  
  
It became a routine. After eating dinner-- something that *he* usually   
cooked-- and watching television on this eighteen inch TV we picked up at a   
garage sale (we decided not to get anything really unnecessary until we had a   
slightly larger bank account.), we would go to bed and undress each other.  
  
The first few times after that first night, it seemed awkward. I mean, it   
was nice and all, but it seemed fumbling, like we were constantly asking   
ourselves if it was right or even okay to be doing that, and with each other   
no less... And I'm sure we were asking ourselves that. But finally we let go   
of the guilt and the nervousness, because being close like that-- it was   
something we needed. To feel closeness at all is special, but we needed it   
more than ever because we were all we had.  
  
It sounds like I'm making excuses. Maybe I still am, a little. Maybe I'm   
still adjusting.  
  
Waiting tables wasn't a bad job for me, except that I quickly got a   
reputation with the other workers as being a snob because I didn't talk that   
much to anyone. But then one day Xander picked me up from work and kissed me   
hello and from then on, people were much nicer. Everyone loves a lover, I   
guess. They probably assumed I didn't have time for them because I was   
spending all my energy on him.  
  
That's right in a lot of ways.  
  
But also, for obvious reasons, I didn't want to get close to anyone else.   
Because how could I ever explain that I had lost my sister and all of my   
friends in a fire that ate our entire town? That I was one of only two   
survivors that I knew of?   
  
I'm sure I could have said that part, actually. It's the other parts, the   
demon parts, that I would have to leave out and if I ever did tell the story   
to anyone, I *couldn't* leave those parts out, because that would mean not   
saying anything about how brave my sister was, how she died in a fight to   
save me and the world, how all of our friends did the same.  
  
It's wrong of me, I know, but I resent them, the people I work with, and   
everyone else on this stupid planet, because they can't know what we went   
through. Just to live a life I'm still not certain is worth living anymore.   
I hate them for their innocence and blind faith that monsters are only real   
in fairytale stories. I'm disgusted with every single person who laughs with   
real pleasure, because I have such a hard time doing that anymore.  
  
Xander makes me laugh, when he can, and I try to do the same. But there's   
always a sad sound in our laugher, a strained sense in our smiles. Our jokes   
don't really fall flat, but we don't receive laughter the way we used to.  
  
I wonder if either of us will ever really laugh again.  
* * * * *  
  
We're getting married. Xander thinks it's sensible; if we're going to live   
as man and wife, we might as well be man and wife, and it'll help with   
insurance he says.  
  
It didn't happen like I thought it would... I seem to say that a lot. Of   
course, nothing really happened like I thought it would. I was a child when   
I had those dreams and now I'm not. Now I'm not even sure if I can have   
dreams anymore.  
  
We were eating dinner and Xander suddenly quietly pulled a small black box   
from his pants pocket and set it on the table, pushing it over to me. I was   
a moron-- I didn't even think it could be a ring. I thought maybe earrings   
or something pretty just because he was thinking of me when he saw them...   
But that doesn't matter now. When I opened the box, it was an engagement   
ring.  
  
The diamond was small, barely more than a chip, but it sparkled pretty   
brightly and I tried to bite back a gasp. I'll never forget what I said, if   
only because now it seems like the perfectly wrong thing to say: "Oh,   
Xander, really?"  
  
He paused, with his fork halfway to his mouth and then set it down, looking   
at me. "I think we should get married, legally. It's not that big a step   
forward-- we already live together and share the household finances. But my   
job at the site becomes permanent next week and I'll be covered by insurance,   
so I think you should be to. The benefits are really good."  
  
I didn't say anything, but I could feel my face fall, feel my blush start,   
and I looked down at the ring, quietly slipping it on my finger as I thought   
how stupid it was of me to think that he *wanted* to marry me. After all,   
his wife of two years had been dead for barely a month.   
  
He must have sensed something, because he leaned across the table and took my   
hand, looking at it for a moment with a smile. "It'll be good, Dawn. I   
promise we'll be as happy as... As we can be."  
  
"As anyone in a marriage of convenience can be," I murmured, and regretted it   
when his face tightened.  
  
"Is that what you think?"  
  
I tried to be logical. "Xander, Anya's been dead for just a month and you   
loved her more than... Pretty much more than anything. That's okay with me;   
I understand loving someone like that." I couldn't look at him when I said   
that last part. "But what else could it be? You're not in love with me,   
you're still in love with her and when you bring it up it's because of the   
insurance. Don't be mad.... It just... Is what it is."  
  
He didn't avoid the subject like I thought he would; he was surprisingly   
straightforward and for the first time since it happened, he said her name.   
"I think about Anya every day. And Willow and Buffy and Giles. When I took   
your hand that... that night... I was making a promise, I was taking you for   
life."  
  
I smirked and felt a surprising spark of anger. "Sweet of you," I said   
sarcastically.  
  
"What do you want me to say, Dawn?" he suddenly shouted, slamming his fist   
against the table. "Do you want me to say that I'm in love with you before I   
am? Do you want me to lie? The night this all happened, the night my *wife*   
died, I had sex with you. Do you think that's easy for me to think about,   
betraying her memory like that? And now we live together and we go to our   
jobs and we don't really talk about what happened in Sunnydale and it tears   
me up." He was shaking, he was so upset. "But I can't be with anyone else.   
If I *can* fall in love again, it can only be with you, because no one else   
in this world can understand me like you can. Don't you get it?"  
  
I was crying by then, silently, but the tears were there, rolling down my   
cheeks. I'd known that he'd felt guilty about being with me so soon after   
Anya died, and I'd felt guilty too, but to hear him say it hurt, even though   
I should've understood.   
  
He noticed my tears then and sighed, coming over and kneeling at my side.   
"I'm not in love you with now, Dawn, but I do love you more than anything   
else in the world. You're all I have. The rest can come in time."  
  
He touched me and I automatically recoiled for a split second, still too busy   
nursing my own wounds to pay attention to what he was saying. Then the words   
sank it and I melted against him and he kissed me and it was all fine again.  
  
But not really.   
  
That was the first time he said my name while making love. It hurt a little,   
to hear it, but in a good way. He just leaned down and kissed me and   
whispered, "Dawn." And I smiled as he increased the rhythm and slid my arms   
around his neck to pull his face back down to mine so I could kiss him again.  
  
It was wonderful. And it was scary, like everything else in this new world   
of ours was.  
* * * * *  
  
Of course, there were other obstacles. There always would be.  
  
About a week after Xander and I got engaged, he began coming home at night   
with a haunted look on his face, saying less and less the more I probed him   
to find out why he was upset. He was never mean, of course he wasn't, but   
his answers became clipped and he was increasingly silent when we ate or   
watched television.   
  
Finally one night it became too much for me and I blew up at him.  
  
"Xander, what the hell is going on?!" I meant other than the obvious, which   
he knew, but still he didn't answer so I blurted out the first thing in my   
head. "You'd better tell me or... Or I won't marry you."  
  
His smile quirked, but it seemed almost angry. "Not funny, Dawn."  
  
"I'm serious. I won't," I said petulantly.   
  
He stood off the couch, rage coming off him in waves; he was trembling with   
it. I could never in my whole life remember being frightened by him, but in   
that moment I was. He stalked over to me and I backed into the wall, unsure   
of what he intended. He forced his body against mine and roughly grabbed the   
back of my neck.   
  
I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified by that point that I had driven him to do   
something horrible and his voice grated, "Look at me."  
  
I shook my head a little in refusal and he gripped my chin, forcing me to   
face him fully and then I did open my eyes.  
  
His face was hostile, furious. "You will *never* joke about something like   
that again. You will never use that against me in a fight again. Do you   
understand? You're marrying me."  
  
"O-okay," I stuttered out, blinking back stinging tears.   
  
Then his mouth was on mine and it was rough and painful but I moaned with   
relief as his teeth rubbed abrasively against my lips. Our tongues clashed   
and then he seemed to understand for the first time that he was hurting me so   
he gentled the kiss, adding his body to it, rubbing against me slowly,   
seductively. His thigh forced its way between my legs and I realized with a   
jolt that I was wet and ready for him. I climbed him trying to get his   
erection to the spot I wanted and even though we were both still fully   
clothed, what we were doing seemed different somehow... It seemed like...  
  
More.  
  
We made love against the wall that night, and Xander let go of his anger and   
frustrations inside me. It was better than it had been in some ways, because   
I could feel that all of him was there with me, focused on me... Just on me.   
  
  
When we'd finished we went to bed and, lying under the covers with him, I   
asked him, "Will you tell me what's going on now?" I touched his chest   
lightly.  
  
He took my hand and kissed my fingertips. "Now I will." With a sigh he let   
go and rolled onto his side to face me. "This week was... Two days ago..."  
  
"Was what?" I asked blankly, although I really should have known.  
  
"It was our anniversary," he said roughly and I bit my lip.  
  
It came back to me in a blast; I was a bridesmaid even though I hated that   
day. Anya made me wear something foam green with frills covering the skirt   
and I'd had to watch as Xander swore to love her until death parted them  
  
The sudden resentment made me angry at myself-- she had been his wife. He   
loved her, would always love her. Tears made his eyes glitter in the   
darkness.  
  
A moan tried to force its way from my throat but I swallowed it back. "I   
never said... I never said that I'm sorry."  
  
"I never said it either."  
  
I felt like I was searching, forever searching for the right thing to say or   
do, the one thing that would make it less hard on him. I realized that we   
were lying naked together and the guilt wrapped around me again like no time   
had passed. I was completely lost, hurting almost as much as he had to have   
been and so I just kissed his bare shoulder.   
  
"I know you loved her," I finally whispered. "I know how hard it is."  
  
"Only you could." He looked at me again then, and I saw something like pain   
or fear in his gaze. "Never ever joke about not being with me. Not ever   
again. I could have killed you tonight when you said that, Dawn."  
  
"I remember," I said, and to my amazement it almost sounded like a joke.   
  
He nodded, touching his forehead to mine. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."  
  
Warmth flooded my face and, because I was too embarrassed to say what I was   
thinking, I said, "I understand it now."  
  
He studied me, and then smiled. "You liked it?"  
  
"I... I..." My face grew warmer, grew hot, and I knew I was blushing   
fiercely. "Not the first part. But, later..."  
  
"I forget that you haven't..." he trailed off, nuzzling my neck.  
  
"I forget it sometimes, too," I said wryly, and then sobered when I realized   
that he must have led the conversation this way because it was hurting him to   
talk about her. I didn't want to hurt him, but I continued, "It's all right   
to grieve for her, Xander. I grieve for all of them. In the mornings,   
before I'm really awake, I sometimes think that Buffy's sleeping just down   
the hall from me. It's hard. It's awful and horrible and it was something   
that none of them should have had to go through-- that *we* shouldn't have   
had to go through, but we did. And we're what's left of them. So it's okay   
to think of her."  
  
He exhaled heavily and looked at me, respect and something else, a sudden   
sadness in his eyes. "When did you become so mature, Dawn?"  
  
He shouldn't have asked that question, because he already knew. But then,   
there had been a lot of things I shouldn't have asked or said but did anyway.   
Still, instead of answering, I rolled onto my stomach and turned my face   
away to hide my tears.   
  
His hand settled on the small of my back and he made gentle, circular motions   
with it, almost as if in penance, understanding immediately why I couldn't   
speak. He leaned over and kissed the nape of my neck and continued to rub my   
back until I fell asleep.  
* * * * *   
  
The world is falling apart.  
  
Neither Xander or I expected this. Fires keep popping up, burning towns to   
the ground and more and more demon sightings have occurred. Xander told me   
that if we only had Giles, he'd figure it out. But as soon as that sentence   
left his mouth, his eyes darkened and he took my hand.   
  
But it was started, the second Sunnydale was ashes. It started before that,   
really, before there was a single fire in sight. And we don't know what's   
causing it but it's clear that fairly soon, there will be no civilization   
anymore.  
  
He told me that we need to keep moving. We can't get settled in one place   
for too long. He's thinking of the Midwest next, someplace like Iowa with a   
lot of space, but I don't know. I'll follow him wherever, that's a given,   
but...  
  
It's my eighteenth birthday today.   
  
We're sitting in the courthouse, waiting for our turn to be married by the   
justice of the peace. I pushed for Vegas, but Xander just laughed-- still   
that laugh has a tinge of sadness underneath-- and touched my cheek and said   
we should do it as quickly and simply as possible.   
  
So as we wait, I think of things I shouldn't be thinking about. Things you   
should never think about on your wedding day.   
  
I think about that night, where the sky was orange with flames and the   
screaming was all around us. I think about the fear in Xander's eyes   
whenever we watch the news and see another "unexplainable" fire cropping up.   
I don't know what the future holds, and I'm terrified.   
  
For Xander, for myself...  
  
And for the baby inside me.  
  
I just realized it this morning. I must be about two months along, which   
would make sense. It probably happened that very night, in the midst of our   
grief and pain and need for one another. I place my hand against my   
still-flat stomach and imagine that I can already feel the baby moving   
around, although it really isn't possible.  
  
And I love this baby. I'd do anything to protect it. Common sense tells me   
that I shouldn't have it at all, but my love for it makes the very thought   
of... Getting rid of it... impossible. I know that Xander will protect it   
until the day he dies, but that's what I'm afraid of.  
  
There are things coming.   
  
We don't know what, and we don't know how to stop them... Even if it were   
possible, we wouldn't know how. Neither of us knows how much longer the   
world will go on as it has been, how much longer people will walk around with   
blinders on. ...How much longer people will even walk around.   
  
I'm eighteen and I'm getting married and I'm having a child. The thought   
makes me want to shrink inside myself, even as I know I will do anything to   
live now... I hate myself for ever wanting to die, because now all I can   
think of is surviving for Xander and our baby.   
  
Our number is called and we stand. I smooth the skirt of my white dress and   
smile nervously at Xander and he leans over and kisses me sweetly.   
  
"Ready, Dawn?"  
  
My heart skips with fright. Ready for what? I remember those days a long   
time ago when we were cursed with song and I remember once singing 'Where do   
we go from here?'   
  
The question never seemed more appropriate than now.   
  
Still, he waits for my reply. So, with no small amount of fear, I speak, my   
eyes locking on his for support.  
  
"As ready as I'll ever be."  
  
  
The End 


End file.
